


Broken But Still Good

by raleighpuppy



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Character Death, Dad max, Dissociation, Dorks in Love, F/F, Fury Mom, Hallucinations, Jim Goose lives, M/M, Max Furiosa and Goose are my brot3, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Mad Max: Fury Road, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, idk what that makes Goose then
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-04-19 08:04:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4738916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raleighpuppy/pseuds/raleighpuppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The stranger approaches the Citadel from the direction of Gas Town with a hood pulled low over their face. Max, used to life at the Citadel, recognizes the stranger.<br/>They're not such a stranger after all. </p><p>OR: Jim Goose lives, and he and Max don't know how to deal with feelings</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Stranger

Max stayed. 

More accurately, he failed to leave, to run away like he's best at, because he'd lost so much blood, he exerted too much energy with too little calories, and his knee gave out. Just after eye-contact with Furiosa, he turned and promptly fell. 

Max runs.

More accurately, he races up the stairs as fast as his bad knee will allow, which, quite frankly, isn't that fast at all. Whereas Furiosa or Cheedo or Capable or anyone else who's fit can run up the stairs, he more or less walks briskly and stiffly. 

"We're gonna get you, Max!" a voice calls from below and he picks up the pace. 

With each heart beat, each ragged breath-- he's never been a particularly good runner; his endurance isn't the best-- he reminds himself he's not in danger. It's just a game. Last time, he'd snapped, convinced himself he was in danger, and put up a fight, but thankfully no one got hurt. He won't let it happen again. 

Furiosa snickers as he runs by. "Kids after you again?" 

"Yeah!" he calls back over his shoulder. 

"Got you!" a voice calls from in front of him and he freezes.

Sprocket, a War Pup maybe six or seven years old, stands in front of Max with a bag permanently slung over his shoulder and too-big goggles up on his forehead. He's painted but it's messy and uneven because, "I can do it myself!" and he's missing some teeth, or "teef" as he calls them. 

"Got you!" he says again.

Max smiles and sinks to his knees. He lets Sprocket, who's giggling up a storm, push him over and onto his side. And then there's another set of small hands on him. Angharad, Dag's daughter, joins in, also giggling. 

"Max, how'd we beat you again?" she asks. "If you've fought all kinds of stuff before an' you're a feral, how can we beat you?" 

Sprocket nods. "Yeah!" 

"You're just too strong," Max answers. 

Sprocket squeals and flaps his arms, something Max has noticed he does when he's happy or excited, and Angharad lightly kicks Max's good leg just for good measure; she knows better than to kick the other one, his "ouch leg" as Sprocket calls it. 

He walks back down the stairs with Angharad on his shoulders and telling him a terribly convoluted story about a weird bug she found that morning, while Sprocket holds his hand. Sprocket's other hand is in his mouth. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The stranger walks alone.

They trudge through the scorching desert sands with a hood pulled low over their face and a gun in their white-knuckle grip. They walk away from Gas Town and further into the Wasteland. Sand sand sand. They've seen nothing but sand for days and days, and there's something in the distance, they think.

A structure? Structures don't necessarily mean people. Not anymore. Not after the Water Wars and nuclear fallout and the Wasteland climate. But a structure can still be protection; it's still something concrete and present. 

It's in the opposite direction of Gas Town and that warms the stranger's heart, as they're certain Gas Town is Hell. But they don't know if this Citadel, if that's what they can see, is any better from what they've heard about Immortan Joe. But he's supposedly gone due to a group of women, one an Imperator and the others his escaped wives, and a Feral. 

The Feral. Something about that word claws at their heart and they have their suspicions-- No, their guesses, their wild wild guesses. Suspicions would have reasons and logic; there's no logic to this. There's no logic as to why they think the Feral is a friend of theirs.

But they can hope. 

They march towards the structure in the distance. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I caught a lezurd!" Sprocket announces. "Max, lookit him!" 

Max crouches next to him, ignoring his protesting knee that's been exponentially growing worse in recent months. He winces a little, but Sprocket and Glock, another Pup, though a couple years older than Sprocket, don't notice. Good. He doesn't want them worrying about him. 

Sprocket opens his hands to reveal a very small two-headed lizard with little black spots on its sides. It's still alive, as are all the lizards Sprocket catches. For a War Pup, he has an odd aversion to killing things, even bugs. 

Max appreciatively nods. "Good lizard." 

Sprocket beams, showing the gaps where teeth used to be. "Really?"

"Really," Max replies. "I promise." 

Sprocket still beams as he opens his bag, the one he always wears, and puts the still-alive lizard in it with all the little pebbles and leaves he keeps. Max reminds himself to grab a new leave from Dag's garden for him as a little present. 

Sprocket lifts his arms. "Up!" 

Max scoops him up and walks down the halls with Sprocket up on his shoulders. Furiosa, coming from one of the garages and covered in motor oil, falls into step next to him and Max fights the urge to move slightly behind her. She doesn't like it all that much when he does that; she knows he does that to hide. 

"'m taller than you," Sprocket announces a bit too loud; his volume control isn't the greatest. 

"You sure are," she replies. 

"Furosa," he says, pronouncing her name wrong like always. "I caught a lezurd today. It had two heads." 

"You're a great lizard-catcher," she comments. "How big was it?"

He thinks for a moment, screwing up his face. "Small," he answers. "'s in my pouch. It has spots too. They're black." 

Sprocket frowns and begins to pout once he realizes where they are. He knows the War Pups quarters means it's bedtime and that's his least favorite time of day. He holds onto Max's hair-- he needs a hair cut-- and kicks, hitting Max's collarbone. 

"I-- I don't wanna--" Sprocket yawns. "Not tired." 

Max takes him off his shoulders and quietly sighs. He's tired and his knee aches something terrible. He'll probably have to ask Furiosa to rub out his bad leg and he knows he won't be able to race with Sprocket, Glock, and Angharad tomorrow. Furiosa looks tired too, yawning and covered in motor oil still, especially under her nails; they're eternally dirty. 

"Please, buddy?" Max asks. "Sleep?" 

Sprocket shakes his head. "No." 

"We're tired," Furiosa says, her voice full of fondness. "Please go to sleep. You can play more tomorrow, I promise." 

Sprocket's eyes widen. "Really?"

Furiosa nods, doing the talking because she can see Max losing it. He'll open his mouth to speak and no words will come out, and he's shaking. She reaches over and squeezes his hand to ground him, remind him where he is and why and who he is. 

After Sprocket agrees to sleep and crawls into bed, Max drowsily smiles at her. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The walls grow closer and closer as the stranger covers more ground over night, and sunrise they're close enough to know this is the Citadel. The sunrise stains the sky red, blood red, and the stranger momentarily sheds their hood to reveal a sunburnt face, friendly features, blue eyes, and messy blond hair. They watch the sun climb higher in the sky for a few still moments before pulling their hood back down and resuming their trek through the sand. 

Split, one of the War Boys on sentry duty, yawns and rubs his eyes and, in the process, smudges his black paint. He grumbles as he looks at the black smudges on his hands, while his sentry partner, another War Boy named Fang, laughs. 

"Hey, hey," Split interrupts. "Ya see that?" 

Split points out towards the horizon where there's something really small moving. Fang shields his eyes from the sun and peers through a pair of binoculars. 

"'s it a Buzzard or Rock Rider?" Split asks. 

"They're alone," Fang comments. "No bike in sight. No car either." 

Split tilts his head to the side and holds out his hand. Fang hands over the binoculars so Split can take a look. 

"Yer right," Split says. "Alone an' no vehicle in sight. Weird." 

"Hmm. We should prolly tell Furiosa 'bout this." 

The stranger continues on their way to the Citadel walls unaware of the sentries who have spotted them and the vehicle being prepared to meet him. Max and Furiosa, both still half asleep and grumpy without their breakfasts (especially Max who still isn't used to this much access to food, and therefore very much enjoys mealtimes and makes himself sick) prepare Max's Pursuit Special to intercept the stranger. A group of War Boys and Pups, including Sprocket, Glock, and Ace, give them the V8 and loud cheering as they pull out.

Max, behind the wheel, groans. "Too early." 

Furiosa readies her gun in case it's needed. "Quit complaining and I'll let you take an extra piece of fruit." 

He instantly perks up. "Really?" 

She laughs. "Sure." 

"You're the best." 

"I know." 

Max slows as they approach the hooded figure who raises their head to look at them but doesn't remove their hood so Max and Furiosa can see their face. Furiosa rolls down her window, maintains a solid grip on her gun that tightens when she spots the stranger's gun. The stranger pauses, and looks between them and the Citadel. 

"State your name and business on Citadel territory!" Furiosa calls over the howling winds. "You don't shoot, we won't!" 

Max has his foot on the accelerator just in car but doesn't apply any pressure yet. Still, he likes to be prepared in case things go sour; he often jumps to those conclusions and, knowing his luck, things will go terribly sour. He knows he stands a hell of a great chance with Furiosa, but, if anything, he needs to get her back in one piece. He's dispensable and so is the Pursuit Special, but Furiosa isn't. The Citadel needs her.

Furiosa narrows her eyes, thrown off by the stranger's lack of both an answer and of any obvious signs of aggression. Max radiating anxiety behind her does little to calm her, especially since she can hear his quick breathing, and she can clearly visualize the drawn look on his face and how his hands shake. She shakes her head, focuses on the stranger instead. 

"State your name and business!" she calls again. 

The stranger looks straight at them. They have blue eyes, eyes that are quite friendly for the Wasteland. Furiosa can tell almost immediately they're from somewhere far away. Like Max, part of her thinks, he's not from here either. She hears Max's breath hitch behind her but thinks little of it. The stranger doesn't speak. 

"Answer!" she shouts. 

She points her gun at the stranger. They remove their hood, eyes wide, and Max makes a sound rather similar to choking. 

"Goose," Max whispers. 

His voice sounds strange. Furiosa makes the potentially deadly mistake of turning her head to the stranger to look at Max. He's crying and it makes her deeply uncomfortable to see her Fool crying. 

There's a sound by the window and Furiosa quickly turns around. It's the stranger. 

Their voice is rusty with misuse, but friendly and cheerful. "Max? Jesus Christ, Maxie, s'that you?" 

Max quickly nods, overwhelmed and having lost the ability to speak. He opens and closes his mouth, but no sounds come out. The stranger, Goose, looks confused, but still breaks into a large grin. 

Max leaves the Pursuit Special and Furiosa watches, unsure who Goose is or why he and Max know each other. But they hug and Max is shaking. He's shaking too much and she's scared they're going to lose him, that he's going to forget and panic. They cling to each other and she can barely make out their words over the wind and their crying. 

"Goose," Max gasps. It's the only word he's capable of saying, the only word he knows. "Goose."

Goose cups his friend's face in his calloused sandy hands and grins despite his tears. "Holy hell, it's really you, Maxie. This entire fuckin' Wasteland and I find you again." 

Goose happily sits in the backseat of the Pursuit Special, absolutely beaming, and Max looks extremely happy, happier than he does up in the gardens with Sprocket and Angharad. Furiosa can see that Goose wears the same jacket as Max under his robes; she wants to ask why, what it means, but it doesn't feel appropriate. 

Suddenly, Goose's eyes widen. "Maxie, is the Pursuit Special? Our car?" 

Furiosa blinks. She'd assumed it was Max's car and Max's alone. It shouldn't surprise her as much as it does. 

He nods, still overwhelmed and having trouble speaking. "Mmm." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Who is he?" Toast asks, hands on her hips, from the doorway.

Furiosa looks up from her workbench where she's working on some modifications on her arm. "Who?"

"The man we took in, the one Max knows," Toast replies. "They know each other." 

Furiosa shrugs. "His name is Goose. He wears the same jacket as Max. It's their car. That's all I know." 

Toast snorts. "Whoever he is, Max is talking to him. Talking a lot."

"They know each other," Furiosa adds. "From before." 

Toast sits on the bench next to her. "Can we trust him?" 

"Max trusts him," she offers by way of an answer. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Max can't believe it. He thinks of what happened, what lead him to leave, what lead up to this. He can't distinguish what's real anymore; all his memories have an odd sheen to them and it makes him uneasy like they're not his anymore. Memories feel like dreams feel like hallucinations feel like the here and now. Time doesn't exist. It bends and blues together and leaves him behind, limping after it and bleeding heavily. Furiosa might not be real; he's not sure. She could be a hallucination. God knows she wouldn't be his first. 

But Goose.

Max's hand is on Goose's so he knows for sure Goose is real. He vaguely remembers something from school, something useless that won't help him survive, about a man-- the man's name is gone-- that said something about how you can't be sure something is real unless you're touching it and when you're not touching it, you can't be sure it's real anymore. He chill runs down his spine and he touches his own face just to make sure. 

Max is real.

Goose is real. 

Goose is exhausted. They did right be taking him up to a spare bedroom right away. He could've slept on his feet when Max and Furiosa-- what an odd name, he thinks-- found him. 

But Max. 

Max is alive and he can't believe it. He heard the story later, after he woke up and Johnny the Kid was dead and Max was gone. Goose felt sick when he'd learned what Max had done, had felt afraid. He was afraid stories would pop up about murders, murders like Johnny the Kid's, and that it would be Max. He woke up from nightmares in which he'd had to kill Max because he was wrapped up in another twisted revenge plot. But nothing happened and that was worse because he didn't know Max was alive, so instead of dreams about killing Max, he had dreams about suicides and accidents. 

But here he is. He's quieter, and trembles like he's trying to hold himself together and is just barely able to. But he's Max. 

And he looks fucking exhausted so Goose scoots over, gestures to the empty spot next to him. Max tilts his head, confused, and Goose laughs. 

"Get in, dumbass," Goose says. "Made room."

Max slowly, hesitantly, crawls in next to him, terrified he's going to fall asleep and lash out in his sleep. That's why he sleeps with Furiosa; he trusts her to stop him, even to kill him if he's a danger to anyone else or himself. 

Slowly, Goose wraps his arms around Max and closes his eyes. Max quietly hums and presses his forehead up against Goose's neck near his collarbone. 

"Missed you," Max mumbles.

Goose runs a hand through Max's hair. "Missed you too." 

Max drowsily grins. "Glad you're here." 

"Glad to be here. Go to sleep, Maxie."


	2. Meeting

Max wakes up confused and unable to speak, his head full of screaming and his vision clouded by hands reaching for him from the corners of the room. And there's something on top of him. His hands shake and his breathing quickens and his head spins. The buzzing in his ears is back. 

Goose feels Max move next to him, quietly hums, warm and comfortable. That is, until someone's screaming. His eyes snap open and he reaches for his gun, but it's not there, and he curses because he let Max's friend-- what's her name? Furious? Furiosa?-- confiscate it. 

Max.

He's the one screaming. He lies on his side, curled up, suspiciously eyeing the corner of the room where Goose sees absolutely nothing beyond a normal corner, and screaming like he's being tortured, like someone is repeatedly stabbing him. 

"Max?" Goose cautiously asks, reaching out to grab his friend's shoulder. "Max?" 

Max quickly moves, a flash of white, a loud snapping noise; it's all too quick for Goose to process until his left arm explodes in pain. Now it's his turn to scream as Max sinks his teeth into Goose's arm, and it all slides together. The Feral he's heard of. Max. They're the same person. 

Max tears and Goose goes limp, hoping a lack of a good fight will calm him down, will diffuse the situation. But Max doesn't let go. He only pulls and tears more. And Goose hits at his friend's head and face, and screams for him to stop.

"Max! Max!" he calls. "Stop! It's me! It's Goose!" 

The door flies open and Goose has never been more glad to see anyone in his life. He's so relieved he could cry if his best friend wasn't currently in the process of biting off his fucking arm. It's her, Max's friend, the one with the robotic arm that picked him up in the Wasteland, and seems to understand Max without needing words. 

Furiosa curses as she assesses the situation. She needs to pull Max off Goose without hurting either one of them. Goose, already exhausted and weak from who knows how much time spent wandering the Wastelands, is extremely pale, both from blood loss and shock, and Max has gone feral. 

She brandishes a gun, but keeps her finger away from the trigger. She doesn't want to shoot him, not unless he's at risk of killing himself or someone else. Instead, she swings the gun, hits Max's head with it, and he relaxes his bite on Goose's arm enough for Goose to slip out of bed. 

"Thank you," Goose gasps.

He awkwardly keeps his arm up against his chest, the blood staining his filthy shirt, while Max writhes in the bed still. Max trembles and rubs at his face, moaning, and Goose looks horrified as he looks between Max and Furiosa. Furiosa crouches so she can cup Max's face in her hands, can hopefully hold him still and get to him. 

"Max," she says. "Max, you're okay. You're in the Citadel and you're in a strange room because you slept with Goose who we picked up yesterday, not me--" Goose's face goes red at that; he'd never considered that Max and Furiosa would be sleeping together. "--and you panicked when you woke. You bit him. He's okay. I stopped you." 

Max blinks a few times, and then moans as he buries his face in his hands. Furiosa rubs small circles on his back. Goose watches, nursing his bloody arm and feeling useless. 

Max speaks into his hands just loud enough for Goose to hear him. "Did it. Again." 

"I know," Furiosa replies. "It's not your fault." 

Max speaks choppily in fragments as if his thoughts aren't complete, as if he thinks in bits and pieces he can just barely piece together into coherent thoughts. "If you. Didn't stop. Sprocket." 

Furiosa understands exactly what he means anyway and Goose has to suppress his jealousy, reminds himself it's been years since he's seen Max. "Sprocket knows you'd never hurt him."

"Still. Could have. Angharad too."

"Max, look at me. You'd never hurt them."

Max uncovers his face. There's blood smeared across his face and his teeth are stained red with Goose's blood that's also rubbed into his hands. "Hmm." 

She looks him in the eyes. "It's not your fault." 

"Hmm." 

She grabs the back of his neck and moves so their foreheads are touching, Max grabs the back of her neck too, and Goose feels like he's intruding on something private. 

"You arm," Furiosa says. "Let me see it."

Goose sticks out his bloody arm and winces as she pokes at the wound with her flesh-and-bone hand. He watches Max, who slowly sits up and avoids his gaze, out of the corner of his eyes. It's deep and jagged from Max's relentless yanking. He'd really gotten a strong grip and it hurts like all hell. 

"Ask for Cheedo," Furiosa explains. "She'll help with cleaning the wound and fixing you up." She looks over Goose's shoulder. "Max, breakfast."

Goose watches, a bit curious how he'll respond. Max perks up instantly at the mention of food, appearing almost entirely there after his episode. And Furiosa smiles. Goose feels a tug in his chest and what the hell? He shouldn't feel this protective of a friend he hasn't seen in years, even if they weren't always just friends even then. 

The trio makes their way to the mess hall and Goose is certain they're a sight for sore eyes with how Furiosa walks so confidently and with a purpose with Max as her willing shadow and with Goose aimlessly trailing along with a bloody arm. A few young men all painted white-- why the hell do they do that? Goose wonders-- stop to watch them, but it's not out of curiosity, Goose notices. They seem to respect Furiosa and, strangely enough, Max too. By extension, they assume he's worthy of respect too. 

A very young boy, also painted white except for some sloppy black patches around his eyes he obviously did himself and without a mirror, runs up to them and stops in front of Max with his arms raised in the air. Goose smiles, recognizing the gesture all kids do, particularly remembering Sprog and how Max would effortlessly scoop him up. Max scoops the painted boy up just as he used to do with Sprog. 

"Max," the boy says. "I found a rock this morning." 

"Yeah," Max replies. "What kind?" 

"A big one," he answers. "Couldn't put it in my pouch 'cause I can't carry it." 

"That's a big rock." 

Goose marvels at the transformation, how Max went from being apparently mad and sinking his teeth into Goose's arm and yanking to happily chatting with a child within what must've been less an hour's time. The boy giggles at whatever Max says and Goose can hear Furiosa laugh too. 

"Max, is your ouch leg okay?" the painted boy asks. 

Max nods. "It's fine. How're your lizards?"

"One of my lezurds died so I had to eat him, but the other lezurd is alive." 

"I'm sorry about your lizard."

"But Angrad gave me a leaf!" he excitedly adds.

"What kind of lead did Angharad give you?" Furiosa asks and Max hums. 

Goose feels terribly awkward and lost, but still follows them because he wouldn't know where to go otherwise and he's hungry. He contentedly sighs when the smell of food reaches him and they turn a corner into a large, although mostly empty, room. Judging from the shape of the room, including crumbs, they're late for breakfast, but they still go up to the front and receive their morning ration. 

They sit at the same table as a very thin woman with blond hair so light it almost looks white and someone Goose assumes to be her daughter with the same hair who enthusiastically greet Max, Furiosa, and the painted boy whose name is apparently Sprocket. The two kids eat together, giggling over something only they find funny. Max and Furiosa sit across from the thin blond-- Goose learns her name is Dag, but she is also The Dag-- and he sits on Max's other side. 

"So, you're the Fool's friend?" Dag asks. "The one who was wandering in the sands?"

It takes Goose a few seconds too long to realize she's talking to him; he's made it awkward now. He nods and she doesn't seem to notice the awkward pause. 

"What's your name?" 

"Jim," he answers. "Jim Goose. Everyone just calls me Goose." 

"That's a bird," Dag says, nodding as she looks at him. "Read about them in a book from the Vault." 

"Yeah, it is. I've never seen one." 

"Neither have I, but there's a picture in the book. They look nice." 

Goose isn't exactly sure why, but that makes him smile, almost like she's completing him instead of the bird. She's a bit erratic, a bit weird in her speech patterns where she'll pause, but friendly, not a threat. He gets the feeling she can be a threat if she wants to be one-- anything and anyone is a potential threat in the Wasteland-- but, for now, The Dag means well. 

"Is, uh, she yours?" Goose gestures to the little girl.

The Dag nods. "My daughter, Angharad." 

Goose nods, speaking between mouthfuls. He's starving; it's hard to find decent food out in the Wasteland beyond the lizards. There's the occasional dead bird-- he's never seen one alive-- but he doesn't trust the look of them. Even still, he doesn't finish his food as quickly or eat as voraciously as Max, who's apparently been there for some time and looks rather well-fed. Max even takes the others' scraps including bits and pieces like apple cores. 

"And Sprocket?" Goose asks.

"Don't know," The Dag answers. "Lots of War Boys and Pups don't know. He's taken a shine to our Fool, though." 

It's time to leave The Dag far too soon for Goose's liking. He's a talker, always has been, and she's good conversation. Despite her odd gestures and pauses and the way she looks at him, she's pleasant enough to talk to. Pleasant conversation is hard to find in the Wasteland. He's missed it. 

Goose can't form what he feels is an accurate map of the Citadel in his head, especially its insides with many corridors, staircases, and rooms. Furiosa and Max seem to know it well, so he sticks with them, still unsure about talking to anyone else, especially the painted men. War Boys and Pups The Dag had said. Is that what they're called? 

He falls in next to Furiosa and in front of Max who follows them, particularly Furiosa, like he's her shadow. Furiosa walks with confidence, like she owns the place, which Goose guesses she does; he doesn't know how he comes to this conclusion, but he'd guess she's in charge. 

"Where're we going?" Goose finally asks as they turn yet another corner. 

Max grunts and Furiosa speaks. "You're meeting the rest of the Sisters," she answers. "And Ace, our head War Boy." 

"Uh, what exactly are the War Boys?" he asks.

"They defend the Citadel if need be, organize and carry out territory patrols, stand guard, and protect supply runs or other excursions," Furiosa explains. 

"Mechanics," Max adds and Furiosa nods, understanding what he means by his mumbled one-word answer. 

"They also maintain the water pipes and perform other mechanical tasks, especially involving vehicles," Furiosa finishes. 

Goose nods. "They're the painted men?" 

"Yes," Max answers. 

The first person they meet is obviously working on something armament-related. She's counting bullets with the help of a few War Boys and doesn't notice them for a few minutes as she and the War Boys shout across the room to each other. She scribbles notes on a strip of paper. 

"Cheedo," Furiosa says and she looks up. 

Cheedo doesn't quite smile, but there's definitely a look of fondness in her brown eyes. She's got long brown hair and hands perpetually covered in motor oil, especially under her nails. That fond look fades when she notices Goose. 

"Who's he?" Cheedo asks, and her War Boys stop working to watch. 

"He's a friend of Max's," Furiosa answers. "Name's Goose. They knew each other Before." 

Her features relax a little, satisfied with that answer. "Nice to meet you, Goose. I'm Cheedo and I'm in charge of armaments." She points to her War Boys, individually introducing each one. "These are Rip, Blister, and Guzz." 

The next person they visit is in a large room full of books that Furiosa calls the Vault with a hint of something angry, something uncomfortable and wary, in her voice. Max bristles and rubs his face, pulls at his hair. Goose's jaw drops; he hasn't seen a library in ages but he clearly remembers them, remembers how after school when they were kids, he and Max would hightail it to the local library because Max had it bad for one of the volunteers, Jessie. 

The woman flipping through a large book is short and tan with short-cropped brown hair and Goose's chest suddenly aches because she must be about the same age Sprog would be if he were alive. Goose spares Max a quick glance and his eyes are wet, his hands shaky. Goose slowly reaches over, places a hand on Max's shoulder, and squeezes. Max leans into it. 

The woman frowns slightly at the interaction, the touch, between Max and Goose, but doesn't offer a comment. She has smart eyes, eyes that notice small details and understand. Goose likes her immediately. 

"What do you need?" she asks. "And who's he?" 

Goose nervously shuffles his feet, but keeps a hand on Max's shoulder. "I'm, uh, a friend of Max's. My name is Goose." 

"A friend of Max's?" She looks up from her book.

Goose nods. "Yeah."

"I'm Toast," she says. "I'm in charge of the books in the Vault and recording." 

It's a long day and Goose is fucking tired. It's been weeks since he's been around so many people. It's gotten hotter, so much hotter, since they've left Toast, who Goose also decided he likes, to find yet another person Furiosa and therefore Max decide it's important he meets. 

Then there's the hammering. The smell. Shouting. More and more painted men and children-- War Boys and Pups, he reminds himself. Furiosa opens a large set of metal doors to reveal a garage workroom buzzing with activity.

Overseeing it all is a War Boy who looks considerably older than the others with a pair of goggles. Goose has noticed the bumps on them; Furiosa explained that many of them are sick due to prior living conditions that have been improved, but that doesn't help those that were sick before and it doesn't stop illnesses from breeding from occurring either. The overseer is wrinkly and covered in these lumps, has more of them than any of the others. The overseer walks towards them with an awkward jerky lurching stride and embraces Furiosa with the same hand-on-neck foreheads-touching gesture Max had. 

"Boss," he grumbles, voice low and booming. 

"Ace," Furiosa greets. 

Ace greets Max next with the same gesture and they each say the other's name. Goose doesn't feel jealous this time, he manages to shove it down, to contain it; rather, he's glad Max hadn't been alone, that he's obviously friends or at least friendly with so many people. 

Ace turns to Goose next, studying him with a frown rather similar to a sneer. 

"Who's this?" he asks. "Don't look like one of the Wretched an' I can tell ya fer sure he's not a Rock Rider or Buzzard." 

Max snorts. "Think we'd let one of them down here?" 

"Nah, mate." Ace shakes his head. "We don't get new people is all." 

"Ace!" a woman's voice calls from below. "Who're you talking to?"

It's not too hard for Goose to spot her among the War Boys, especially with her bright red hair. Goose blinks a few times, not sure if he's imagining that color because he's never seen hair quite that red, but it becomes apparent as she moves closer, as she stands next to Ace, her hands covered in grease and a smudge of it on her face, that it's her real hair color. 

"Capable," she says, holding out a hand. 

Goose blinks twice. "Of what?"

And Max laughs. He decides he wants to hear that sound more; he didn't know how much he missed Max's laugh.

"That's my name." Capable grins. "And you are?"

"Goose."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Goose groans as he flops into bed after dinner, absolutely exhausted, and he's surprised when he doesn't feel Max crawl in next to him again. Instead, Max stands in the doorway, looking haggard and worn. He tugs on his hair and hums. Goose frowns and slowly sits up despite how badly he wants to close his eyes and sleep forever. 

"Aren't you coming?" Goose asks.

Max quickly shakes his head, not speaking.

"Are you okay?"

Max nods. 

Goose's frown deepens. "Are you sure?"

"Could've killed you," Max grumbles. "Hurt you." 

Goose sighs, exasperated. "Maxie, I'm fine." 

"Don't trust. Myself. Going to Furiosa. Sorry." 

Before Goose can respond, he's gone and Goose quietly sighs. There's a heavy feeling in his chest and stomach, and he wants to throw up, to scream, something. Whatever happened this morning, it wasn't Max's fault. Clearly, Max hadn't been in control; he was having some sort of episode. Max can't he held responsible for that. 

But he's gone and Goose doesn't want to sleep alone.

Furiosa sits up in bed when she hears the door slowly creak open. She knows who it is without having to look at their face and she scoots over, making room for him. Max lays next to her and quietly sighs. 

"Not that I don't want you here, but why aren't you with Goose?" she asks. 

"Can't," he answers. "Hurt him." 

She sighs. "Max."

"I know. If I tried. You'd stop me. Shoot me. I don't know if he would." 

She runs her flesh-and-bone hand through his hair. "You're feeling that bad?"

He quietly hums. "Yes."

Silence. 

"How do you know him?" Furiosa asks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as you can tell from the end of this chapter, the next chapter will draw from the first movie, as Max will have to explain what the MFP was, who exactly Goose is to him, and all that other good stuff. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. The Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: gang rape is mentioned since this chapter draws heavily from the first movie

Goose isn't going to admit he's upset Max isn't with him-- after all, they haven't seen each other in years-- but he's really upset. It feels wrong somehow to feel upset that his best friend isn't sleeping with him; he never wanted this before. But the world was different then.

And he doesn't feel like sleeping, so he sits in bed with his arms folded across his chest and he's not fucking pouting because he's a grown ass man and he doesn't pout. But, yeah, he might be pouting a little. He'd never admit that to Max, never give him that satisfaction. 

He misses Max, tells himself it's just because he hasn't seen him in so long, but having him there the night before (minus the biting incident) was really nice. 

Goose knows he won't be falling asleep anytime soon. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Max quietly hums. His head feels fuzzy and he can't quite focus on anything. The buzzing in his ears is back with a vengeance, but Furiosa reaches over and touches his face, reminds him she's real too. 

"He's my friend..." he begins, pulling at the pillow case; he has to do something with his hands. Better the pillow case than his own arms again. 

She encouragingly nods and runs a hand through his hair. 

He swallows. "We've known each other a long time. Childhood. He's, ah-- Goose has always been there." He pauses, blinks a few times, rubs at his face. "Until I left." 

Furiosa can tell she's losing him from the way he's shaking and pulling at his hair, the way he's staring off at nothing like it's scaring him. Slowly, she moves closer and puts an arm around him. 

"You don't have to speak. I know it's hard," she says. "You're not a real good talker." 

He snorts. "Hmm?" 

"You know I won't force you to do anything." 

"I want to," he begins. "I want to say it. But. I don't know how." 

She nods, understanding. "I'll wait." 

He takes a few minutes to recollect his thoughts, get his words in something resembling order, before speaking again. 

"We've known each other. For a long time. Maybe a bit older than Angharad?" Max begins. 

"We all know you're ancient, so that's a long time," Furiosa jokes. 

Max nods. "I'm old. For the Wasteland." 

"We're both old then." 

"Goose. He was-- is my friend," Max continues. "We were friends through school and we-- we got into some trouble together. Big trouble." He pulls at his hair and hums. "There was nothing to do there. It was-- there were people. It was-- I don't know if it was a city or a town anymore, but there were people. It was-- we'd consider it somewhere close to civilized, I guess." 

Furiosa nods. She knew Max came from somewhere different, somewhere really different and much closer to Before than they live now, but it's different to hear him say it, to have it confirmed. 

"There was-- there wasn't much to do as a teenager there. It was fast cars and cheap booze. And-- and Goose and I got caught up in it." He laughs. "We were good drivers. I was better, but-- but we were good. Got a lot of attention. That turned back." 

He pauses and Furiosa frowns, but doesn't push him. He'll speak when he finds the words he needs, even if it takes some time. Words get tangled in his mind and caught in his throat and come out scrambled, but they make it out eventually. 

He continues. "The MFP got wind of--"

"The MFP?" she asks. She's seen that before on a badge he keeps in his pocket he doesn't let anyone else touch. 

"Main Force Patrol," he explains. "They kept the roads safe from-- from glory roaders and people like me-- me and Goose. They arrested us both. Thought we were in big trouble. We weren't. They recruited us, made us promise we'd join up instead of-- of becoming like the glory roaders. That was the next obvious step for people-- people like Goose and I." He doesn't meet her gaze. "Glory roaders." 

"What are glory roaders?"

He blinks, breathing heavily, and still avoiding her gaze. "We-- we-- we were a good group. Suicidal cops. Captain-- Captain Fifi was a good man. Roop. Charlie. Kept-- kept everyone-- almost everyone safe. Failed a few times. Officers died. Civilians died." 

She reaches over, rubs circles on his back, but doesn't speak. Not yet.

"Goose was my partner still. We drove together. My car. The Interceptor. It's ours. We shared it." 

"The Interceptor in the garage?"

He nods. "That one." He hums as he considers what to say next. "Glory roaders. They came in and they-- they would, um, take. Kill. Destroy. For the hell of it. Because they could. We had to stop them." 

"They thought you and Goose would do that?" she asks.

"Only logical to think that. We already drank and raced for fun. Why not take it up a level?" he replies. "People crashed. Died. We weren't the good guys. The MFP was." 

"Would you have?" 

Max bites his lower lip as he mulls it over. "Maybe. I-- I enjoyed it out there. Not a good officer. Never was. Only thing that-- that made me better than the glory roaders, than Toecutter and Johnny the Boy, was my badge." 

She doesn't argue with him; she knows it's useless, knows he made up his mind on this long ago when there was still an MFP and he was still Officer Rockatansky. His mind is set, the thought is final. There's something in his eyes, something new and soul-crushingly sad at the mention of Johnny the Boy and Toecutter. Their names come out like broken glass that cuts his throat to shreds as they come up; he's in pain. 

"Toecutter. His gang. They-- they were-- were bad. Nightrider. I killed him." He clenches the sheets and his knuckles turn white. "So Toecutter led them, the rest of the Acolytes, with Bubba Zanetti. They stole and terrorized. We-- we caught Johnny the Boy at-- at-- at the-- where a gang rape had occurred. He was too high to leave. Drugged to the gills." 

Furiosa feels sick, has to close her eyes and take deep breaths. She can feel Max shaking with the force of holding himself together next to her. 

"We arrested him," he continues. "No one showed up to the trial. We had to let him go. Goose was-- my god, he was furious. He believed-- he believed in the courts more than anyone, you know? He believed in a real kind of justice and he was furious." 

"How do the courts work?" she asks, and Max feels stupid for it, for assuming she'd know how they work when there's nothing close out here and Joe obviously didn't have a real legal system in place under him. 

He takes deep breaths to calm himself. "If you're arrested, you go on trial with a jury. A jury of peers. They decide if you're guilty or not, but they need to be certain you're guilty to convict you. Witnesses. They need to be there to testify. To say what they saw and answer questions about it. There are people there to say what kind of person you are. You don't-- don't need to prove yourself innocent. It's up to the other side to prove you guilty, if that makes sense."

She nods. "It does. And no one showed up for Johnny the Boy's trial?"

"Yeah, so we had to let him go." 

"Fuck." 

"We were given permission to take them out any way possible. Fifi said as long as the paperwork was clean. That's not-- not all with Johnny the Boy. The next-- That fucker sabotaged Goose's bike. Goose was thrown. He flew into a field and-- and-- and Toecutter and Johnny the Boy ambushed him." 

Max's breathing becomes erratic and he's trembling so badly the bed shakes, obviously upset with whatever comes next in the story. She vaguely remembers his surprise at seeing Goose, like he was seeing one of his ghosts. She's not a terribly reassuring person-- she knows that-- but she does her best then with small touches and soft words. 

"A petrol leak. They threw a match. Goose. I saw him in the--" Max is crying now; all his words are knives in his throat. "The hospital and I wanted out. Fifi let me have a break. I took it. Jessie and Sprog and me. We went to the beach. Jessie loved the beach. She loved a lot of things so much, especially Sprog, but the beach was-- that was special. We had to stop to get a tire repaired, so Jessie and Sprog went to get some ice cream while I stayed at the garage. They-- Toecutter-- his gang-- they tried to molest Jessie." His crying turns to sobbing. "We went to a friend's house. May. We stayed with her. Jessie and Sprog were going to the beach. I-- I don't-- I can't remember where I was. I wasn't there. I should've been. I should have been. I should have been there. I could've stopped it." 

She pulls him close, wraps her arm around him and does the best she can with her stump. "Max. Listen to me. You did all you could, okay? It's-- not-- you can fail sometimes, but you did all you could. You did all you could." 

He nods into her shoulder. She can feel the tears soaking into her shirt. 

He continues with his forehead pressed against her shoulder. "They were waylaid. May held them off, I think. Jessie and May and Sprog escaped in the van, but it broke down and-- and Jessie-- she tried to run with Sprog, but it-- it didn't work. They were run-- rundown by the motorcycles. Sprog was dead when I got there. Jessie was close to dead." 

He takes a deep breath. Something in his eyes changes; there's something wild there, something crazed. His hands shake, but it's a different kind of shake, not a nervous or scared shake, but a feral shake. He makes faces, twitches, touches his face, and pulls at his hair. 

"I hunted them down," he says much too matter-of-factly. "I got the Interceptor and I went. Bubba Zanetti. I shot him. He got my knee, but I got him at point-blank. Toecutter fled. I-- I chased him right into the path of a truck. He was run over. Johnny-- he-- he was looting someone. Someone he killed. I-- I-- I--" 

He stops speaking, stares off, and continues pulling at this hair. He bites his lip. she can see he's drawn blood; it's all over his teeth. And that's when it dawns on her that this is when he lost it, when he became the Feral, the mad man, Mad Max. Whatever he did to Johnny the Boy, that was it. 

"--I handcuffed him. To the vehicle. The vehicle of the man he killed. There was a fuel leak. Johnny had a lighter." 

She nods. She's knows how this story ends because there's only one way it can. 

"I thought Goose was dead. He was dead! Far as I knew! Jessie was-- oh god, she was dead and so was Sprog. He-- he was-- he was so-- I saw him dead. He was dead when I got there! I couldn't-- I didn't get the chance to do anything to stop it! So I lit it. And I tossed Johnny a hacksaw. Fucker could either burn and die or hack through his ankle." He pauses and breathes heavily, erratically. "So-- so you see I'm no-- I'm no better than the glory roaders. I enjoyed it too." 

Silence.

There's a hand on him; he can feel it and he leans into her touch because he's worn out and exhausted and nothing feels quite right. He said it. Finally, after all these years of running, someone knows why he left, how he became like this. It's a relief, but there's something pulling him down, the knowledge someone could use this against him. He doesn't suspect Furiosa would do the to him; he doesn't think that would ever happen. But she knows he's just as bad as Toecutter. 

"Max," she softy says, her voice barely above a whisper. "Listen to me. You're not-- you're not bad. You're not Toecutter or Johnny the Boy or Bubba Zanetti. They did it because they enjoyed it. You did it for a reason. Justice failed. You said the courts didn't work. Courts are for Before. They don't work anymore. And what you did worked. They're gone. They're all gone." 

Max nods, tears welling up in his eyes again. He moves his mouth as if to speak but no sound comes out. His shoulders shake and his breath hitches, and she rubs circles on his back and holds him close. 

"Thank you," he mumbles. "For asking. Letting me tell." 

She nods, understanding, knowing what he needs to hear and what she believes. "You weren't wrong to leave," she says and it's not a lie; she's not saying it just because he needs it. "I would've left too. I did leave. I didn't plan to recuse them." She doesn't need to say who they are. Max knows. "It just happened to be what would piss Joe off the most." 

"But you still did it."

"My heart was in the wrong place." 

"You can't." He pauses for a few seconds. "You can't put heart into things so easily anymore. Makes it easier to hurt you." 

She nods. "It does."

"You're not a bad person," he adds. "You got them out still."

"You're not bad either." 

"Strong and bad. They're not the same thing." Max bites his lip still. "You need to be strong to survive. But you don't have to be-- you have a choice whether or not to be a bad person. That never changed." 

"It's not your fault. You can't blame yourself if you weren't there."

"I know. It's just hard." 

"A lot of things are hard, yeah?"

"Mmhm."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry to people who've seen the first movie because this chapter must've been super boring to you. To people who haven't seen the first movie, watch it. Watch the original trilogy please.


	4. Goose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More mentions of gang rape in this chapter and references to abuse.

To put it as gently as possible, Max and Furiosa look like hell the next morning. Goose would comment except that they both look absolutely bone tired, especially Max, who doesn't even offer his usual good morning grunt and nod combination, and eats his breakfast at a normal person's pace. He's not even feeling well enough to eat with his usual gusto, which is alarming to all at the table judging from the quick looks they give him. Goose slowly eats his breakfast, mirroring Max. 

Furiosa takes this chance to actually look at Goose, to study him. Other times they've been together, she's never gotten a good look at him because she was either showing him around or talking to someone else, probably Max, or otherwise preoccupied. 

Goose isn't too tall, shorter than her and Max at least, and he's not that broad either. Under his jacket and other loose clothing, she suspects he's rather thin. His hair, light blond but not quite as light as Dag's and not as shiny as Angharad the Splendid's, not to be confused with Dag's Angharad, is long and brushed over his face. There are patches, she can tell, where no hair grows and he's attempted to cover. His hands, she realizes, are burnt. Horrifically. As are parts of his arms. The skin's raised, uneven, shiny. And she remembers Max's story, how Goose was ambushed and set ablaze. 

Furiosa pushes her food away; she can't eat as she recalls the smell of burning flesh and the screams as she pictures it as Goose burning and Max not being there to help instead of War Boys burning in battle. 

She can't quite meet Goose's eyes. 

Goose intently watches Max, notices the way he doesn't meet people's gazes, how his eyes flit about the room and his hands shake. He's unsteady, a coiled spring. And Goose has seen him snap already. He's scared. They're both scared. Goose sees fear in Max's eyes, and he's scared too.

Breakfast drags on too long.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Goose finds himself in the Vault-- he wants to call it the library and he wants to make fun of Max for wanting to go there to talk to the volunteer he thinks is cute, to talk to Jessie, but it suddenly hits him that Jessie is gone and this isn't their library and that was a long time ago-- helping Toast, while Max, utterly exhausted, goes back to bed and Furiosa leaves to the garages. 

"What're you thinking about?" Toast asks, looking up from a book about ocean animals that makes Goose think of Sprog's reactions when he and Max had taken him to the beach one day and pointed out the small fish to him; Sprog loved those fish.

Goose blinks. "You'd be the same age as Max's son. If Sprog were alive." 

"Oh." 

"Yeah." Goose nervously laughs, suddenly becomes conscious of how scarred and hideous his hands are, and hides them. "Yeah, you'd be the same age. I've noticed how Max seems to like you. Well, he seems to like all of you, but--"

"I know." Toast nods. "I know what you mean. We thought he'd had a kid at some point with how he was with Angharad when she was little. And he's good with Sprocket too." 

"Max's always been good with kids." 

"Really?" 

"Yeah. He also loves kids. Or used to. I can't say if he does now."

Toast considers it for a moment, chewing her lower lip. "I think he likes them. He dotes on Angharad and Sprocket. Spoils them." 

Goose quickly nods, falling silent as he catches Toast staring at him, really staring, and it's unsettling. He brushes his hair into his face more, hoping to cover himself up entirely, hoping to cover every inch of exposed skin, not even bothering with subtlety. Suddenly, he's hyperaware of the ridges and bumps on his skin and it's shiny quality and it's odd coloration. Third degree burns will do that to you. 

"Why do you cover your face?" Toast asks. 

Goose grins, but he doesn't know if she can see it behind his hair. "You're smart. That's why they call you the Knowing. Take a guess." 

"You were badly burnt," she says.

"Bingo."

"How did it happen?" 

"How about a trade?" he asks.

Toast perks up. "A trade?" She sounds excited and he grins at that, pushes his hair to the side a bit so she can see he's smiling. 

"No one's explained anything to me. What this place is, who you all are," he explains. "I heard rumor years ago about a coup. Is it true?"

"Goose." She sounds exasperated. "You don't need to bargain for information with me. I'm more than happy to tell you who we are without this if you don't want to tell me."

His grin widens. "I can tell why Max likes you. You don't want anything in return." 

He decides then that he too likes Toast. There's something sincere about her and sincerity is rare in the Wasteland, but that's not synonymous with weakness or foolishness. There's a reason she's Toast the Knowing; she's smart, crafty. But still there's something kind there. A large part of Goose hopes that Sprog would've been like her had he lived long enough; a part of him knows Max probably wishes the same. 

"I was set on fire," Goose admits. "Me and Max were-- we protected the people and we were up against some, well, some pretty bad guys. They ambushed me, knocked me off my bike. There was a petrol leak. They had a lighter." 

He leaves it at that, allowing Toast to fill in the blanks. 

Toast gnaws on her lower lip, but her gaze doesn't waiver. She doesn't look away from him and it lifts a weight of his chest. Even in the Wasteland, even after the Water Wars, even with all the other deformities and decay he's seen, people still look away from the burned man, but she doesn't look away. More and more people look at him here, but Toast meets his gaze. 

"We used to be-- we were Immortan Joe's wives. He-- he was the Citadel's leader. A terrible man. The War Boys idolized him. It's a combination of indoctrination, taking them young, and inflicting abuses on them they don't know are abuses. The Dag, Cheedo, Capable, Furiosa, and I were his wives. Furiosa eventually became an Imperator, but we-- He wanted sons. When we couldn't deliver, he-- he would do-- he'd hurt us. Female babies were killed. All males were sick or deformed. The Immortan wasn't-- wasn't a healthy man. It wasn't our fault the babies weren't healthy," Toast explains, fighting back tears.

Instinctively, Goose pulls her close, sits with an arm around her. "It's not your fault," he agrees.

Toast continues, leaning against him. "But we were treated like it was our faults. There was another wife, Angharad. Eventually, we escaped. Furiosa freed us. We were on the Fury Road. That's where we met Max. He was a bloodbag. The War Boys were sick because the conditions Joe kept them in-- it was an easy way to keep them loyal-- so they needed transfusions. Max was a bloodbag for them. He was captured. Crazy smeg joined us. Furiosa could've killed him, but we're not things. Max isn't a thing either. No person is a thing."

"You overthrew him?" Goose asks. 

Toast nods. "Long story short, yes." 

"The guys who set me on fire liked to destroy things for fun," Goose adds. "Rape, gang rape, stealing, you name it. They-- they--" He trails off.

"What else did they do?"

Goose blinks back tears. "Max's wife and the son I mentioned." 

"Oh, glory. They?"

"Yeah, they did." 

"What happened to them?" Toast asks. "I know-- I know justice doesn't come anymore. Not really. But did they get in trouble?"

Goose nods. "Before I was set on fire, I-- I believed in the courts, that we'd get them legally, but we booked one called Johnny the Boy and no one showed up to the trial, so we had to led him walk. We caught him at the scene of a gang rape too high to leave. And I-- I was disillusioned. I was so fucking mad that could happen! That the courts could let him go! That they did!" 

Toast nods; she knows all about courts from her books. "If the courts didn't punish them, what did?"

"Not what," he corrects. "Who. Max did. Killed them. After I woke up in the ICU, I learned he took them all out. Shot them. Ran them into traffic, off bridges. Handcuffed them to a motorcycle with a leak, set it on fire, and tossed them a saw to either saw through their own ankle or die." 

"Glory," she breathes. "He went mad."

"That's what they were calling him when I woke up. Mad Max." 

"What happened to Max afterwards?"

"He left. Dealt with Johnny the Boy and left. I was--" He uncomfortably shifts in his seat. "I was scared more cases would pop up in nearby cities and towns about Mad Max going on a killing spree. I was scared we'd have to arrest him or kill him." 

"That makes sense," Toast reassures. "He's your friend. It's normal to be scared. I'd have been scared too."

For not knowing her well, that statement means a lot. He takes a deep breath, tries to steady his breathing. 

"If we ever caught him, I wanted those damn courts to fail just like they failed Johnny the Boy and probably millions of other bastards," he bitterly confesses.

Toast nods, understanding. "I would-- I'd want them to fail too. Max-- he was-- he succeeded where the courts failed or at least tried to."

Goose frantically nods. "Yes! Yes! The others thought I-- they thought maybe there was something wrong-- None of us wanted to not-- Max was one of us." 

Toast sees movement out of the corner of her eye-- something or someone broad and dressed in browns near the entrance listening to them-- but doesn't raise her voice, especially after she notices who it is from the way they nervously scan the room, avoiding corners. 

Slowly, Goose pulls his hair out of his face. He's not a pretty sight. His skin's molted, raised, bumpy, oddly shiny like on his arms and she can more clearly see the patches where hair doesn't grow. She matches up the symptoms from the books she's read and settles on third degree burns that weren't treated and didn't heal quite right. 

"Told you it's bad," Goose says. "Pretty gross." 

Max silently watches from the doorway, wants to tell Goose he's not gross, but he can't find the words.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time Goose returns to his room after dinner, which Max was worryingly absent from-- he guesses it's rare for Max to miss any meal at all-- he's bone tired and he wants nothing more than to sleep. A large part of him hopes Max will be there, but he tries to suppress that hope, tries to tell himself Max will probably sleep with Furiosa again. 

A laugh almost escapes him when he opens the door to see a large lump under his blanket and Max's jacket lying on the ground. Slowly and quietly, he strips and changes into his sleeping clothes, and then climbs into bed next to his sleeping friend. 

Max grumbles and moves a little closer. Goose gladly accepts the contact, well aware Max is a cuddler. 

"Heard what you said," Max mumbles, half asleep. "'m sorry 'bout the courts." 

Goose sighs, exasperated but fond. "Not your fault, Maxie." 

"An' yer not gross, dumbass," he adds. "Happen to like yer face, okay?" 

Max hates himself the minute those words leave his mouth, but Goose doesn't catch on, so he breathes easy, sure his secret his safe. Instead Goose laughs. Max falls asleep very soon and with a fuzzy feeling in his stomach, while Goose lies awake and runs a hand through Max's hair. Judging from the little sounds he makes, Max really really likes this, so Goose keeps it up. Once he's sure Max is asleep, Goose pulls his hand away, his heart pounding unnecessarily fast and his face hot. 

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So things will pick up in the next chapters, as Max and Goose have both realized they like the other, but they're both too dumb to admit it


	5. Ace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ace dies in this chapter. It hadn't occurred to me that it wouldn't make much sense for him to be around if this fic takes place 6 years after the events of mm:fr, so I felt I had to do it.
> 
> Also, someone noticed a couple chapters back that Max misremembered parts of the 1979 movie, which was intentional.  
> I'm glad someone noticed it!
> 
> And sorry for the gap between chapters!

Goose wakes to warm, yellow sunlight filtering into the room through the small window and miraculously not shining on his face despite his shitty luck. Score one for Goose. He lies still for a few minutes, reveling in the silence and warmth and comfort. That is, until he becomes aware of a wet spot on his shirt near his stomach and a terrible terrible sound reminiscent of a lawnmower, something he hasn't seen or heard in a long time now. In fact, he's surprised he can recall the sound of a lawnmower so effectively. Slowly, he starts to sit up, but someone grabs him and he stiffens. He throws off the blankets, panicking because oh god oh god whoever it is has probably seen him, probably seen how awful and raised and bumpy and shiny his skin is and--

Max. 

He relaxes immediately. It's Max. That godawful sound is snoring-- he's always snored something terrible-- and there's a wet spot on him because Max drools in his sleep. Goose laughs, a great deep laugh that shakes his entire body because this so so ridiculous and he never thought he'd ever wake to see this jerk drooling in him ever again like he'd do during stake outs or when they'd collapse together on one of their couches, and Max groans, awakened by Goose's laughter.

"Stop laughin', asshole," Max grumbles. "Sleeping here." 

"Sorry, bud." He runs a hand through Max's hair. "Being a pillow's tough work." 

"Shut up." 

"Nah." 

"I'll find another pillow," Max threatens. "What'll you do then?" 

Goose snorts. "First of all, no one'll be drooling all over me." His features soften. "But ya wouldn't do that. Love me too much."

Max's face is too warm and he doesn't know what to say; his brain short-circuits and he settles on, "You're an ass."

"Take that back."

"Never."

Goose attempts to shove Max off the bed, but, Jesus, he's really sturdy and a hell of a lot heavier than he looks, and Goose can barely move him. Goose remembers how tall and gangly Max used to look, and he never looked particularly broad, probably because how thin he was. Max laughs as Goose pushes against him and fails to move him. After a few minutes of struggling, Goose over-dramatically sighs and collapses on Max's back. 

Max moves under Goose so he's lying on his back with Goose lying with his head on Max's chest, listening to his heartbeat and breathing. Goose closes his eyes, feels Max's chest rise and fall, feels hands in his hair, and he stiffens as those hands approach a bald spot.

"You should uncover your face," Max advises. "The burns.... People shouldn't mind them." 

Goose opens his eyes. "I do." 

Suddenly, Max looks really sad and it twists something in Goose's stomach. "I don't mind." 

"You should," he replies, whispering. "Everyone else minds." 

Max's hands, although calloused, move slowly, gently, despite his horrible tremors, as he pulls back Goose's hair and tucks it behind his ears. Goose blinks, aware this is the first time in years he's let anyone see his face. Max doesn't flinch. He's seen worse; it's bad, but there's worse. And it's something you learn out here. You don't flinch at people's appearances. It just might get you killed if it's the wrong person. It feels wrong still to flinch at someone's appearance, no matter how disfigured. You didn't do that Before and you don't do it now.

Max smiles. "Perfect." 

"Jesus Christ, you're such a sap." 

"You like it."

Goose's face feels too warm and he hopes he's not red, especially now that his hair isn't covering it, and he's suddenly aware of how quickly his heart beats and how Max must be able to hear or feel it. 

"Maybe I--" Goose's voice wavers. "Maybe I might like it a little." 

"Yeah?" 

Max's voice sounds like how it used to when he'd tease Roop or Charlie, but there's something else there, something softer. Goose almost pauses, almost panics, because soft doesn't exist. People don't talk like that to each other anymore. 

But apparently soft still exists in the Citadel.

It exists in how Dag takes care of the gardens and Angharad. It exists in how Max and Furiosa place a hand on the other's neck and press their foreheads together in something that can only be described as love. It exists in Sprocket catching lizards to show to Max. It exists in Toast's careful organization and care of her books. It exists in Capable's concern for the War Boys and Pups.

Softness isn't a weakness. 

"Goose?"

Goose blinks. "Huh?"

"Okay?" Max asks.

"Yeah, I'm okay." He pauses. "Glad you're here. Glad I'm here." 

"How'd you get here?" 

Goose resists the urge to pull his hair back over his face and hide instead of speaking. But the way Max looks at him, those eyes he thought he'd never see again, forces the words out.

"I woke up in the hospital," Goose begins, deciding to begin there, where Max's memories probably end. "Alone. Burned. I learned what happened from the boys. They told me what you did." 

Max looks away, avoiding his gaze. Ashamed. Goose places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes; Max leans into it.

"I didn't-- I didn't want the law to catch up to you," he admits. "I was scared. Scared our Mad Max would kill more. But you didn't. You really left. I-- I left not too long after." He swallows, blinking back tears. "You were gone. Jessie was dead. Sprog was dead. The town was a mess. More glory roaders came. Hoards of 'em, Maxie, more than we ever seen. It was too much, so those MFP officers who lived-- We did the dishonorable thing and left. Fled. The MFP doesn't exist anymore. Hell, our town don't exist anymore." 

Max stiffens, suddenly can't breathe. He knew it didn't exist-- his mind told him that was the logical assumption-- but a part of him holds on. A part of him has to think it still exists, that somewhere people still live somewhat normally and they're okay, that a place exists where the rules of the Wasteland don't apply. Something breaks and he twitches something awful-- it worries Goose, scares him even, how Max twitches; is he okay? ill? hurt?-- and bites down on his tongue. He wants to hit his head against the wall, to bash his brains in; he's never wanted anything more that he can remember. A coppery taste fills his mouth. 

"I wandered. Got myself a nickname too: Wanderer or Stranger. s'all anyone ever calls me," Goose adds. "Went from settlement to settlement, mainly following water. Where it goes, I go. Water led me to Gastown eventually. For years, I heard stories that got more and more specific the closer I got to here 'bout an overthrow. Something about Wives, a Fool, an Imperator, and an Immortan. Curiosity and water led me here." 

The conversation drags on and on with small questions-- "Did you ever pass through Bartertown?" and "You did what?"-- until the sun was high enough in the sky it made Goose feel bad, almost shameful, they'd wasted so much of the day talking in bed, while everyone else presumably worked. However, when he throws open the door and Max shadows him, the mood outside is much different than he expects.

War Boys and Pups-- Goose has to remind himself that's what they're called-- walk the halls, which is normal, but they walk slowly, slumped, as if weighed down. Many don't look up to meet this eyes. Some sit with their backs against the wall and heads in their hands. Some Pups and younger Boys obviously have been or are currently crying. Not a single one acknowledges them until Sprocket, eyes red and puffy and nose runny, clings to Max's good leg. 

"What happened?" Goose asks, as he can see Max struggling to speak, crouching down to Sprocket's level. 

Sprocket sniffles. "Ace," he mumbles.

Max pats the boy's head. "Ace?" he asks.

"Ace," Sprocket confirms, nodding.

"Is he-- you know?" Max awkwardly asks, shuffling his feet. 

Split and Fang, a couple War Boys, the ones who spotted Goose first, speak up, Split doing the talking and Fang mainly nodding in agreement and adding "mmhm" where needed. 

"Ace collapsed while workin' last night," Split explains. "Hadn't been feelin' too chrome all day. We tried tellin' him to go to bed, but you know him. He didn't go. Said he was chrome as ever." 

"He wasn't, was he?" Goose asks, fearing the worst.

Split nods. "We could tell he was kinda rusty. He was feverish, confused, in pain, but he said he could work. Collapsed while helpin' a Pup out. We had to carry 'im to his quarters, get 'im into bed." He blinks back tears, while Fang cries openly and Sprocket sobs. "He didn't get up this mornin'." 

"How's he now?" Max's voice is quiet, barley above a whisper. Goose can see tears in his eyes and Max picks up Sprocket, holds him close. 

"Ain't shiny," Split answers, taking deep breaths to calm himself. "Furiosa's with 'im. He was talkin', but not makin' sense. Kept usin' the wrong names fer people an' he's tired an' weak." 

Max curses under his breath and takes off at a quick pace, as quick as his knee allows, with Sprocket still in his arms without another word, and Goose follows. The room is up high, on one of the highest levels, and near the garden. Goose doesn't know why he'd expect Ace's room to be closer to the garages, but he did. It's nice, almost sweet, to think of him loving the gardens. 

Ace lies in bed, eyes half closed and breathing heavily. Goose had never noticed how old he was before. He hesitates at the door, unsure if he's welcome, while Max inserts himself next to Furiosa, who sits in a chair she's pulled up to the bed and dabs at Ace's forehead with a wet cloth. War Boys and Pups sit and stand around the room, silently watching. The silence is occasionally broken by sniffling, crying, or whispering. 

Silently, Max beckons him over, and Goose crouches next to him so he can talk to Sprocket and try to calm him down. Goose asks Sprocket about the contents of his bag as Ace's breathing grows more and more erratic. 

Until it stops. 

The room explodes into noise and chaos.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ace's body is cleaned before it's placed on top of the kindling by a mournful group led by Furiosa and consisting of a menagerie of War Boys, Pups, and Max. Furiosa blinks back tears.

She knows he'd want this. They discussed it before. With her as an Imperator and himself being so old and highly ranked, even under Joe, they knew death was on their heels. They discussed it constantly. Death became their joke and best companion besides each other. She can't remember her father-- he doesn't exist in any of her memories, not even for a fraction of a second-- but she clearly knows Ace was the closest thing she had to one. He came from a small village and he knew Immortan Joe before he was Immortan Joe, but he didn't know the Before Times. He's not that old.

It was a small village. They were mountain dwellers and Ace worked with an animal Furiosa had never seen before with her own eyes called goats. He told her one night after losing one of their crew mates that they burned their dead. They built piles called pyres and burned them to ensure no animal-- "or human," he'd added very quietly like there was something pulling him apart, but she never asked about that; now that he's gone she wishes she had-- destroyed their remains. She doesn't particularly care about her remains, but the sight of a War Boy's body desecrated by vultures was enough to make Ace feel physically queasy and noticeably upset. Remains are a scared thing, he'd say.

She'd give anything to hear him say it one more time. 

It didn't come as a surprise, his death. He was the oldest War Boy, the only one alive to have known Immortan Joe. And he was old even then. His tumors multiplied and it became evident not all of them were benign. They ate at him, at his eyes and windpipe and stomach and eventually Furiosa suspects his brain too-- she saw the signs, including forgetfulness, stuttering, an overall confusion, but never told anyone her fears-- until he couldn't function with their bites. 

Her hands shake as she grips the torch so tight her knuckles turn white. Tears and smoke burn her eyes, and she can feel Max's presence behind her. Her ever diligent shadow. It calms her nerves a fraction to know he's there. And something about Goose, his easy presence, helps lighten the load, as does seeing Angharad, Sprocket, Dag, Cheedo, Capable, and Toast peacefully standing among the War Boys, Pups, and Wretched, all sharing the same grief. 

And to think Ace would go from goat-herder to an asset of Immortan Joe's to someone to beloved in his lifetime. 

She lights the pyre and the flames lick the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for what I did to Ace


	6. Collide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so sorry for the gap between chapters. I haven't been feeling well, and then there's school and college apps. My great grandfather and a friend of mine died. Then there was the holidays. I'll try to update sooner next time. 
> 
> Also, there's a hinted-towards sex scene in this chapter but I feel I should let you all know I will NEVER write out a sex scene. So please don't ask for any. I've had that happen before and I've abandoned the fic. I don't want to have to do that here. I don't write sex scenes. 
> 
> Happy holidays and thanks for reading!

Goose can't sleep. A common occurrence. It's the middle of the night and the moonlight is bright, almost unnaturally so, and it illuminates the entire room, the entire bed.

Specifically the fact Max isn't there.

And his heart aches with it. It's an ache he tries to suppress because it's wrong. It should be wrong. He bites his lip and wants to claw at his face, but doesn't because he knows better than to aggravate the burn scars. He misses Max and it fucking sucks because he was there just hours ago. Goose knows he shouldn't miss someone within hours. But Max should be there, should be with him.

Max should always be there.

He thinks of the dreams. The dreams he's had about himself and Max, Before and now, and feels a little guilty because wanting is wrong.

Max is probably with Furiosa, he attempts to rationalize. She hasn't been sleeping well since Ace died and his presence seems to ground her. Or hers seems to ground him. Maybe both. He calls it the Max-Furiosa Complex, this weird phenomenon in which he can't tell if Max calms her or Furiosa calms Max, or if they somehow both negate the others nerves, as they speak without words yet somehow know exactly what the other means.

(He may want it to be the Goose-Max Complex. He wants that. He wants to be close to Max. He wants.)

He can't sleep.

(He still wants.)

Slowly, Goose rises and rubs at his tired eyes, rubbing lighter on the more burned side of his face, careful not to rub too hard; he's made that mistake before and pulled away to bloody, red hands and a terribly sore face. He doesn't do it again, but instead rubs softly, softly, and then makes his way through the silent halls, occasionally interrupted by snores or coughs, towards the bathing pools.

His bare feet are cold on the stone, but it's nice, refreshing. A part of him wants to press his face against the stone to cool the old, irritated burns, but the fear of being caught dissuades him.

Moonlight filters into the room, illuminating the pools and Goose fails to notice the lone figure in one of the further pools as he sheds his shirt, revealing burn scars littering his body.

Max floats in one of the pools further towards the back of the room. Furiosa is on patrol; she went alone and doesn't need him tonight. She told him to relax and he laughed; Max doesn't believe he can relax anymore.

But this is damn close to relaxation.

Physically, at least. Mentally, he's still high-strung as ever; he can't stop thinking. The ghosts are gone for now, have been all day, pausing their torments.

Goose. Goose occupies his thoughts, nagging him nonstop with his stupid grin and laugh, and Max kind of wants to scream. Part of him knows he'd get away with it-- even all these years later, he's the crazy Wastelander, the feral; they'd blame his screaming on that-- but then Goose would come and check on him, probably scared. He doesn't want Goose to see him, to see the tattoo across his back.

He's been trying to convince Goose he's fine. The words ISOLATE PSYCHOTIC, KEEP MUZZLED-- he asked Furiosa; he knows what's there-- wouldn't help his crusade.

(Neither did biting Goose that one morning, but he was scared. He's always scared; it's fear that motivated him, not survival. It's always been fear there's nothing else, that he'll die and somehow not be reunited with Jesse or Sprog. He doesn't want to be alone; that's worse than anything.)

Max shoves down his fear before completely submerging himself in the pool.

Goose blinks at the sound, looks around for the other person, but doesn't seem them. He sits at the edge of the pool, eyes closed and legs in the water for a long time. He hears the other person emerge and submerge time and time again. He doesn't know how long he sits there in darkness until he opens his eyes again, jerks himself awake and reminds himself he came here to clean.

And then Goose sees.

He must have been sitting there for quite some time because the lighting is different; the back pool is illuminated. The water ripples and the person's head breaks the surface and, fuck, Goose knows who it is and his face grows red and hot. He digs his nails-- it hurts; he needs to cut them-- into his thigh as he watches Max surface, water running down his body and Goose can't help but watch the droplets.

Suddenly, Max freezes.

Their eyes meet.

And Goose is suddenly very conscious of the fact neither one of them is wearing any clothes. He grabs his clothes and makes a mad dash for the door, not bothering to bathe.

Max stands alone, head tilted to the side.

\--------------------

"So, uh," Max begins later that night in their room, his hands shaky and sweaty, and his face bright red.

(It's their room for sure; they've both been sleeping there in the same bed since Goose arrived. It's their bed. Goose has never been one for sharing, but he'd share anything with Max, a thought he tries to suppress.)

Goose blinks, looks at Max from where he's already curled up under the blanket in bed. "You okay?"

"The, um-- the-- the--" Max makes a choking sound, suddenly unable to speak, not an uncommon occurrence for him still.

"It's okay, Maxie," Goose reassures. "I'll wait until you find your words. Take your time."

"What--" Max falters, pulls at his hair. "Mmm."

"Words, Maxie. I need words."

"What happened earlier?" Max manages to squeak.

"We were both naked and I was embarrassed," Goose answers. His heart pounds in his ears and he knows he's sweating and, glory, he hopes Max can't tell.

Max tilts his head to the side and rubs at his face a little. "But we've been naked around each other before." It's almost a whine and Goose would tease him if he didn't feel like he was dying.

Goose has to stop himself from saying "but I didn't love you like this before." Instead he stares ahead, face bright red. Max stares back, perhaps even more red; he's always had something of a furious blush. Max won't move first-- Goose knows that for sure-- so he has to break their stare first, move first.

Goose moves slowly, slowly until their mouths meet. Max kisses like he lives, like he's holding onto something, fighting for it. It's a bit rough; it's obviously been a while since he's kissed anyone. And Goose feels wrong for just a second as he remembers Jesse, but pushes that away. You're allowed to love more than one person, he tells himself, This is allowed. Goose kisses slower, steadier, like he's something to hold onto, an anchor.

Goose pulls away, smiling and laughing. Max shakes, but returns the smile in a twitchy, almost shy way Goose wants to call "cute" but doesn't.

Neither one moves. The only sound is their breathing until Max laughs again, a loud, strong sound.

Their lips meet again.

Goose moans deep in this throat and he'd be surprised at how willingly Max cedes control if he didn't remember a night years and years and years ago in a certain V8 Interceptor. Max lets Goose push hm over, hold him down. If anything, Max seems to enjoy it and that encourages Goose more. Their lips crash together and there's some teeth-- uncomfortable, but not entirely unpleasant-- and their clothes are in piles on the floor. 

\-------------------

Goose wakes with the sun shining in his face and too warm. But he doesn't move. He doesn't move because there's someone curled up against him and he can't believe it; he can't believe he's naked and Max is naked and they're curled up next to each other.

That is, until he remembers the night before. 

And he quietly laughs before pressing a light kiss to a still-sleeping Max's forehead. Max grumbles but makes no indication of waking up or moving any time soon. In fact, he's so far gone Goose doesn't think even the prospect of food will make him move. 

Goose huffs and instead settles for watching Max sleep, observing the slow rise and fall of his chest, the sunlight in his hair and eyelashes, the bruises and scratches on him body that come with a sense of ownership Goose feels a rush when he thinks about, when he remembers he left them there. He brushes his thumb over a particularly large bruise on Max's neck and happily hums before running a hand through Max's hair. 

Quietly and slowly, Max stirs and opens his eyes. He's slow and quiet as he wakes, eyes heavy with sleep. He moves a little closer, buries his face in Goose's neck and sighs. 

"You big baby," Goose sighs. "Get up, Maxie. It's time for breakfast." 

"Don't want to," he grumbles. "Wanna sleep." 

"Don't be a whiner."

Max groans. "Goose." 

"How 'bout we strike a deal?" Goose asks. "I'll give you my Apple if you get up? 'Cause I'm kinda under you a little and, dude, you're fucking heavy. How much do you weigh?"

Max squints, considering the offer for a few seconds before rising. "Not heavy. You're weak." 

Goose snorts. "I'm cutting you off. You're not getting anyone's leftovers anymore, bud. New rule." 

Goose doesn't tell anyone Max whines and grumps the entire way to the mess hall, but that doesn't stop him from laughing his ass off at Max's offended scowl when Goose suggests a no leftovers rule. 

The duo jokes and elbows each other the entire way until they're seated and eating. Max wolfs down his food, entirely focused on that one thing like nothing else exists, like usual, while Goose eats at a more normal pace. Furiosa looks across the table at them, eyes one of Max's bruises, raises an eyebrow, looks at Goose questioningly. Goose grins in response and Furiosa gives him two thumbs up.

It takes all of Goose's willpower not to reach over and punch her shoulder. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any and all comments are encouraged. I live off comments tbh

**Author's Note:**

> I'll try to update as often as I can with school and while still updating my other Mad Max fic, Mad Max: Road to the Stanley Cup. Thank you for reading!
> 
> Please leave comments, questions, kudos, etc. Everything matters, though comments are the most encouraging as it's great to know what specifically people liked. 
> 
> Thank you!


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